The rubberized nylon skin of the helium filled bag shuddered under the onslaught of the rapid gunfire. It sagged at first, then wrinkled like a prune and collapsed, flapping in lose folds toward the sea. The yellow Albatros swept over the dropping balloon, making a beeline for the First Attempt.

"Now!" Pitt yelled, hitting the deck.

Gunn threw the switch.

The next instant seemed to march on to infinity. Then there was a gigantic blast which shock the ship from keel to mast. The early morning silence was shattered with a violent sound like the breaking of a thousand windows by a tornado. And, in the sky, a tower of dense smoke and flame swirled in a huge bursting mass of orange and black. The concussion from the explosion knocked the wind from Pitt and Gunn; squeezing internal organs against spines with the sudden punch of a battering ram.

Slowly, moving with painful stiffness from the bandages and struggling for breath, Pitt rose to his feet and peered Into the expanding cloud for signs of the Albairos. Shaken for a moment, his eyes darted too high, and he could see nothing but curling smoke; the plane and Its pilot were gone. Then he realized what had happened. The brief lag between his shouted signal and the actual explosion saved the plane from instant disintegration. Swinging his gaze down to the horizon he spotted it The craft was gliding clumsily through the air, its engine dead.

Pitt snatched at the binoculars and quickly sighted them on the Albatros. It was trailing smoke and fiery fragments in a meteoric frail. He watched in morbid fascination as one of the lower wings suddenly folded backward and fell away, causing the plane to tumble in a series of wild gyrations, like a piece of paper thrown from a high office building. Then It seemed to bang suspended for a moment before plunging into the sea, leaving a signature of smoke melting into the warm air.

“It’s down,” said Pitt excitedly. “We’ve scored.”

Gunn was lying against the far bulkhead corner.

He crawled across the deck and lifted his head dazedly.

“How far and what heading?”

“About two miles abaft the starboard beam,” replied Pitt He lowered the glasses and looked at Gunn’s pale face. “Are you all right?”

Gunn nodded. “Just lost a little wind, that’s all.”

Pitt smiled, but there was little humor in his eyes. He was smugly satisfied with himself, very pleased with the outcome of his plan. “Send the double-ender and some men out there to dive on the wreck. I’m anxious to find out what our ghost looks like.”

“Of course,” said Gunn. “I’ll personally lead the diving party. But, only on one condition.. you get your ass down to my cabin immediately. The doc hasn’t finished with you yet.”

Pitt shrugged, “You’re the captain.” He turned back to the rail and looked again at the spot that marked the grave of the yellow Albatros.

He was still at the rail ten minutes later when Gunn and four of the First Attempt's crew loaded their diving gear on the double-ender whaler and cast off. The little boat made no attempt to circle and search the general surface area but moved straight to the spot where the plane disappeared. Pitt waited until be could see the divers drop into the sparkling blue water at intervals to converge together underwater at the final resting place of the wreck.

“Come along. Major,” said a voice at his elbow.

He slowly turned and looked into the face of the bearded doctor. “It’s no use chasing me Doc. I won’t marry you.” Pitt said, a wide grin riding his face.

The blue-eyed old ship’s surgeon did not grin back. He merely pointed down the ladder at Gunn’s cabin.

Pitt had no choice but to wearily resign himself and turn his battered body over to the doctor's care. In the cabin he fought a half-hearted battle against unconsciousness, but the administered sedatives won a beachhead, and soon he was sheathed in a deep sleep.

Pitt stared at the gaunt and repulsive face that echoed his image from a small mirror, hanging in the cabin’s head. The black hair dangled down his face and ears, adding an unkempt crown above the deep green eyes that were circled and etched with jagged red blood vessels. He had not slept long; his watch showed a time lapse of only four hours. It was the heat that woke him, the morning blanket of hot air, drifting across the sea from Africa and digging its burning fingers into his skin. He discovered the ventilator that was closed, and he opened it, but the damage was already done. The hot dry air had a head start and the air conditioning would never catch up and cool the cabin, at least not until early evening. He pushed the tap and splashed water over his face, letting the coolness soak into his pores as it dribbled down his back and shoulders.

He briskly dried his damp skin and tried to recall in sequence what had happened the night before. Willie and the Maybach-Zepplin. The villa. Drinking with von Till. Teri’s beauty, her paled features. Then the labyrinth, the dog and the escape. Athena; did her owner ever find her? The dory, this morning, the yellow Albatros and the explosion. Now the waiting for Gunn and his crew to salvage the plane and find the body of its mystery pilot. What was the connection with von Till?

What was the old kraut’s motives. And Teri. Did she know about the trap? Was she trying to warn him?

Or, did she bait him into being used and pumped for information by her uncle?

He shook all thoughts and questions from his mind. The bandages itched and he fought the agonizing urge to scratch… God, it was hot… if only he had a nice cold drink. The only item of clothing the doctor hadn’t cut off his body was his shorts. He rinsed them out in the basin and put them on wet.

Within minutes they were completely dry.

A light knock came from the door. It slowly swung open and the red-haired cabin boy poked his head around the bulkhead. “Are you awake, Major Pitt?” he queried softly.

“Yes, but just barely.” Pitt replied.

“I… I didn’t mean to bother you,” the boy said hesitantly. “The doc asked me to check on you every fifteen minutes to make sure you were resting comfortably.”

Pitt threw a withering stare at the cabin boy. “Who the hell can rest comfortably in this furnace with the air conditioning turned off?”

A lost bewildered look crossed the young sunburned face. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry sir. I thought Commander Gunn left it on.”

“What’s done is done,” Pitt said shrugging. “How about something cold to drink?”

“Would you like a bottle of FIX?”

Pitt’s eyes narrowed sharply. “A bottle of what?

“FIX. It’s a Greek beer.”

“All right, if you say so.” Pitt couldn’t help but grin. “I’ve heard of taking a fix before, but never drinking one.”

“I’ll be right back sir.” The boy ducked around the bulkhead and closed the door. Suddenly it jerked open again and the young boy’s flaming hair reappeared. “I’m sorry, Major, I almost forgot. Colonel Lewis and Captain Glordino are waiting to see you. The Colonel wanted to bust right in and wake you, but the doc wouldn’t hear of it. He even threatened to throw the Colonel off the ship if he tried it.”

“All right, send them in,” said Pitt with impatience. hurry with the beer before I evaporate.”

Pitt lay back on the bunk and let the sweat roll down his body onto the rumpled sheets, sopping the areas that came in contact with his skin. His mind continued to turn, ransacking every detail of the past, assembling for the present, pushing ahead, and plotting future directions.

Lewis and Giordino.

They hadn’t wasted any time in coming. If Giordino received an answer from NUMA headquarters, it might help to supply one of the many missing pieces to the puzzle. The four borders were forming. but the middle was a scattered conglomeration of uncertain and unknown quantities. Von Till's evil face leered from the maze, his tight-lipped grin curling in smug disdain. Pitt’s mind raced on. The great white dog. He tried to force it into another piece of the puzzle, but it wouldn’t fit. That’s strange, he thought, the dog doesn’t correspond to the piece it’s supposed to. For some unfathomable reason he couldn’t force the animal between von Till and Kurt Heibert